My Not-So-Funny Valentine
by Dracoisalooker76
Summary: After years of vehement distain for Valentine's Day, TJ struggles with what to do about the holiday now that he's dating Spinelli.


_This fic references the episode_ My Funny Valentines _and takes place when the gang is in 10_ _th_ _grade (in the 2007-2008 school year, if they were in fourth grade when the show ended in 2001 rather than when it started in 1998). The story has TJ and Spinelli in an established relationship and it is stated that they got together on Christmas Eve, two months prior to this. That is a subplot in my other oneshot,_ The Santa Claus _, though you don't need to read that for this to make sense._

 _The gang is 15 in this fic._

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing._

...

 **My Not-So-Funny Valentine**

 _February 13, 2008_

"So, what's your big plan for the big day?"

I close my locker and turn to Gus, who looks at me with genuine curiosity. In my head, I go through the "big days" Gus could be talking about. Do I have a test I didn't study for? Is he talking about baseball tryouts? Our next big birthday is Gretchen's sixteenth, but that isn't until the end of March. There isn't anything special coming up for Spin either. She has a track meet this weekend but that's not unusual. Her birthday is in October. We'll have been together two months on the twenty-fourth of this month but that's almost two weeks away. Besides Gus should know that Spin and I aren't celebrating those cheesy monthiversaries. She went on an hour rant about the overzealousness of celebrating months when Gus brought up the topic in January.

I honestly have no idea what I'm forgetting.

"Whatcha talkin' about, Gus?" I ask, more for my sake than anything else. If I need to be planning something, I need to know what it is.

"You know," Gus says, elbowing me like we're both in on some huge secret. "It's you and Spinelli's first Valentine's Day."

Oh, yeah. That's tomorrow.

I've never liked the idea of Valentine's Day. As a younger kid, the holiday seemed goofy to me. Why would I give hokey little cards to my classmates for candy I could just buy myself at Kelso's? What was the point? Anything I wanted to say on a valentine I could say in real life. At that point, the whole concept of feelings and actually loving someone hadn't quite hit yet.

Now that I'm older and actually in a relationship, Valentine's Day seems worse than it did when I was younger. It's a cop-out holiday. It's a day when someone can buy flowers or chocolates and everyone forgets that on the other three hundred some odd days of the year they're as romantic as a log. Valentine's Day is a day for lazy dudes to be absolved.

Luckily, Spin and I are on the same page when it comes to the dumb holiday.

"Oh, well, we're not doing anything for Valentine's Day."

"Not doing anything for Valentine's Day?" Mikey exclaims, as if I've just told him that Winger Dingers are going out of production.

"Does this surprise anyone?" Vince asks. He leans against the locker next to mine with his arms crossed. "We're talking about the kid who made joke cards and basically started a mutiny."

I shudder at the memory and quickly look to see if any girl heard. Chad told us once that girls could hold grudges for seven years. While I'm not sure that's true, I'm sure some of them may still be mad at me. Yes, it wasn't one of my finer moments, but I was only in fourth grade and I did learn from my mistake. I didn't make any more valentines after that. In fifth grade, Ms. Finster didn't care if I made a bag for cards. She said if I didn't expect people to give me cards, I didn't need to bring any. In sixth grade, Mr. Yamashiro had us make our bags at home to not waste class time so I just didn't make one. Then, all that nonsense stopped in middle school.

"I thought we weren't going to bring that up again," I groan.

Mikey puts his hands on my shoulders to get my attention. "TJ, this is Valentine's Day! It's the most beautiful day of the year – the day where romantic gestures are not only encouraged but expected!"

"Well, I think it's a phony holiday, set up by card companies to make money," I tell him. He drops my shoulders and crosses his arms. "Besides, it isn't like Spinelli cares about Valentine's Day either. If she did, I'd be more than happy to put aside my convictions, but she doesn't. She thinks it's pathetic to get all excited over cheesy valentines."

"She said that?" Mikey asks. He looks like he's about ready to cry, like Spin and I are committing some sort of sacrilege by not exchanging stupid valentines with each other.

"Well, not those words exactly, but–" They all look at each other and I stop mid sentence. "What?"

Vince shrugs. "I dunno, man. I mean, you might have blocked out the whole thing, but I remember her getting real testy in fourth grade when she found out her special valentine wasn't so special after all."

Gus winces. "Yup, that was the only time I think I've ever seen her and Ashley A join forces."

"That was in fourth grade," I maintain. All three of them raise their eyebrows at me. "Oh, come on, guys. You know her just as well as I do. _She does not care_."

"Every girl wants to feel special on Valentine's Day," Mikey says. "Even our lovely little brute."

"Yeah, Teej," Vince says. "You should at least check with her before Valentine's Day hits and make sure she's not expecting something."

"She may be little, but she's scary when she's mad. Plus, she's so rash she might break up with you," Gus mumbles. His eyes widen. "What do we do if you break up? Is it like divorce? Joint custody? You get us Monday, Wednesday, Friday and she gets us Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday? What about Sun–"

Vince slaps a hand over his mouth.

I hold my hands up. "Okay, okay. You made your point," I grumble. "But, I'm telling you, she's not gonna care. I've known her since kindergarten. I know what she's going to say."

My only class with Spinelli is in the morning, so I don't get a chance to see her after seeing the guys at my locker after lunch. I have no tether to school property in the winter so I usually beeline it home when the bell rings. Today I stay behind and wait for Spin to finish track practice. I don't want her to have to walk home alone. We normally bike but my tire was flat this morning and I was too late for us to stop and fill it and still make it to school on time. My mom ended up giving us a ride because of my tardiness, but it means we both have to walk home.

There is a small part of me though that can't wait to ask her about Valentine's Day so I can tell the guys that they're wrong.

She's definitely not expecting to see me when she walks out the door of the school. I can tell by the way her eyes widen. She waves goodbye to the girls she walked out with and then makes her way toward me. I hold my arms out to her and she takes the opportunity to fall into them as I press a kiss to the top of her head.

"You didn't have to wait for me," she says as she pulls away. I take her track bag off her shoulder and toss it over my own. "I can walk home on my own. I'm no damsel in distress, Teej."

"I know, but I wanted to," I tell her. "Besides, sitting in the library forced me to finish my homework."

"TJ Detweiler doing his homework on time without any prodding? I think the world might be ending," she teases.

"Hey, I've made honor roll every semester since we started high school."

She rolls her eyes. "Only because you sweet talk your teachers into giving you extensions."

"Not my fault that I'm so charming." I wink. "If you got it, flaunt it."

Spin shakes her head and grabs my hand, pulling me on our way.

"Come on, Prince Charming, some of us don't have a fairy godmother to get us out of our homework deadlines."

As we walk, she tells me about her practice and grumbles about a paper due tomorrow. I try to one-up her by reminding her that I have to spend most of my free time tomorrow with the Ashleys. We're working together on a class senate fundraiser, the Buy-A-Rose, Send-A-Rose campaign. Some of the local florists donate flowers that we sell and the money we bank doing this every Valentine's Day goes into our account for our future Junior and Senior Proms. While I'm happy to be help ensure we have enough money to throw good proms, hanging out with the Ashleys isn't my idea of a great day.

It is, however, a decent segue into a conversation about Valentine's Day and our mutual hatred of the holiday. But, just as I start to go there, she stops mid-step, turning away from me and dropping my hand. Her face nearly presses into the store window at Kelso's and I follow her gaze. There is a display of Valentine's Day merchandise. Red roses. Heart-shaped candy boxes. Little stuffed bears with hearts for eyes.

I take a peek at Spin, whose face has morphed into a grimace. Internally, I'm laughing. The guys may think they know Spinelli, but not as well as I do.

"This is ridiculous," I say, gesturing to the display. "Commercialized romance at its finest."

She rolls her eyes. "It's like suddenly every girl wants heart-shaped everything."

"And dummies actually buy into this crap."

She shrugs as we continue walking. "It just seems so impersonal, you know? Buy a heart-shaped box of chocolate and you're all good. Don't put any extra thought into it, just get roses because it's _romantic_. But if that's not her favorite flower then what's the point?"

This is _exactly_ why we're perfect for each other.

"It's like those cheesy Valentine's cards we used to buy in elementary school," I add. "Mr. Kelso told me that if you want to make your point, you go homemade."

He didn't mean joke cards, but live and learn.

"Well, you sure made that point loud and clear," she says, rolling her eyes, clearly remembering my cards.

"You made out pretty well, you know," I say, poking her in the side. She twists just out of range. "No one else had their 'I's dotted with little skulls."

"My Romeo," she deadpans.

"Hey, even if it was a joke, you liked the homemade one better than any of the dumb store-bought ones everyone else gave you, right?"

She nods reluctantly. "Yeah, but it was mostly because I had a huge freaking crush on you and here I was thinking you put a little extra elbow grease into my card," she says, shaking her head. "I got all excited and it was nothing but a huge joke."

I'd like to say that nine-year-old TJ did put extra elbow grease into Spin's, but aside from the skulls her card was just like every other girl's. It included a joke that, I suppose, ended up sounding sincere. At the time I thought she would take it the best out of all the girls. I thought she'd find it hysterical because she had agreed that going gaga over Valentine's Day cards was pathetic, even if she did buy the wrestling cards from Kelso's and passed them out like everyone else. But after Ashley A shared her makeup pack with her so they could both cover my face with it during recess while all the other girls cheered, I knew I hurt her feelings more than she let on.

"I was just trying to make a point," I say. "Valentine's Day is a cop out for people who don't put out any effort any other day of the year."

"Nine years old and already dismantling the establishment," she teases.

I shrug. "If it's broken, you fix it."

She rolls her eyes and I sling an arm around her shoulder as we continue down Third Street. We walk by the school, the playground still buzzing with kids playing even hours after school let out.

"So, what about the people who do put effort in?" she asks.

I turn away from the playground. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "I dunno, you said it's a cop out for the people who aren't romantic. What about the people who typically are? Do they just plan something spectacular?"

My stomach plummets. Oh, no, was I wrong? She must be talking about me. This isn't some hypothetical situation. I'm a planner. Why would she use that specific word if it wasn't aimed at me?

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. This whole conversation hasn't been a mock fest. She has been fishing for details about a plan I haven't considered making.

"I guess you'd have to ask someone who's romantic," I say, thankful that my voice doesn't betray the jitters I feel. This isn't the first time I've been glad I'm decent at hiding behind a joke.

And to add to the joke, I turn and blow a raspberry on her cheek. She squeals and tries to squirm out of my grasp, laughing and hopefully forgetting all about our conversation.

When I stop, I wipe the slobber off her cheek with the sleeve of my jacket and press a real kiss in its place.

She rolls her eyes. "You need to learn how to kiss."

"Oh, I know how." I press my forehead against hers. "I mean, I don't want to brag or anything, but I had my first kiss in the fourth grade."

"And you haven't improved much since then." She winks as I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? You think I can't kiss?" I ask, sliding my hands down her sides, making her shiver. "Well, then, you haven't been a very good teacher." I move my forehead away from hers, so I can whisper the next part in her ear. "Considering everything I've learned about kissing has been from you."

Then, before she can hit back with a witty retort, I lean back just enough to capture her lips with mine.

Fourth grade me would definitely be appalled at how much I enjoy kissing Spin. But, then again, when we kissed in fourth grade, it was barely even a kiss. A quick peck, nothing but two still pairs of lips pressed together. Even fourth grade TJ would have admitted he enjoyed kissing Spin if he had kissed her like this – her hands on his neck, her body pressed against his, with one of his hands on her back and the other one her hip, pulling her even closer.

When we break apart, I can't help but feel relaxed. I could look into her eyes forever and never be bored. I steal one more kiss as she tries to pull away so we can continue walking home. She rolls her eyes and I decide to tease her about it.

"You know, Spin, if you don't stop doing that–"

"They're going to get stuck that way and don't come crying to me when they do," we finish together, both mimicking Ms. Finster's gravelly voice. Rolling her eyes became a habit for Spin around the beginning of sixth grade. Anytime Finster escorted us to Prickly during recess, I swear we heard those words.

She even looks over her shoulder briefly now, on the lookout. When she's satisfied we're not going to get yelled at for kissing on Finster's precious sidewalk, she reaches for my hand and begins to guide me slowly away.

As we walk, I notice a couple girls staring at us. They're probably third graders, maybe fourth at the oldest, looking up at us with their eyes wide. They stand up, dolls forgotten on the ground, and sprint to the tetherball pole. There, they grab a group of boys waiting in line and tell them something, arms flailing.

Maybe there will be another experiment at Third Street soon, even without Butch around spreading rumors.

The rest of the walk to our neighborhood is uneventful. Our conversation naturally veers away from where it was on Third Street, the stupid holiday out of her mind at least. I walk her to her door, handing her back her track bag and kissing her goodbye.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, I sprint off the stairs and down the street, passing my own house and going around the corner. I run the five streets over to the LaSalle house and knock on the door before I've even caught my breath. I can hear Vince shout to his mom that he's got it before the door opens.

"Well, well, well. Look at who we have here, Mr. Anti-Valentines himself," he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "Spin upset that the great TJ Detweiler doesn't have a plan to knock her off her feet? How shocking."

"Come on, Vince," I beg. "You gotta help me. Valentine's Day is tomorrow and I can't mess it up again."

He lets me in and the two of us head upstairs, texting Gus and Mikey as we do. Honestly, I need all the help I can get. I've spent so long hating on Valentine's Day that I don't even know what's good for a holiday like this. I've never really paid too much attention to it. Mikey is going to come in clutch for that. He watches enough romantic movies that he'll more than make up for the lack of experience the four of us have with Valentine's Day besides the elementary school card swaps.

Within the next fifteen minutes, the four of us are all sitting in Vince's room, a few books spread out to make it look like we're doing homework. Gus sits at the computer on Vince's desk, looking for ideas on the internet, while the rest of us talk through ideas we come up with on our own.

Mikey stops pacing the floor and claps his hands. "How about you write her a poem?"

Vince shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. His poem will definitely turn into a joke."

"A song?" Mikey asks.

"I can't sing."

"You could always make the card without the jokes," Vince suggests. "Keep it plain and simple. Just – Happy Valentine's Day and sign it."

"You could write a nice letter in it," Mikey continues. "You are very well-spoken. I'm sure it would translate to paper."

Gus looks up from Vince's computer. "How about a candy bouquet? This one has a bunch of chocolate roses and a Ring Pop."

Vince groans. "He's not trying to marry her, Gus!"

He winces. "Sorry."

"It's a good idea for the future though," Mikey says, always trying to make sure no one's feelings get hurt.

I throw my arms over my head and collapse on the floor, my back hitting with a loud thump. "I may not get a future. I may be dead tomorrow."

"Stop being a drama queen," Vince says, throwing a pillow from his bed down onto my face. "We will figure something out."

"Are you sure we can't just call Gretchen?" Gus asks. "She probably knows exactly what to do. She's a girl."

"Yeah, and she's also Spinelli's best friend," Vince says. "If we get Gretchen involved, she'll definitely let it slip that we're cooking this whole thing up the night before and then TJ's more doomed than he is now."

"I don't think I could be any more doomed," I mumble, hugging the pillow. "I just...she basically said she's expecting this big plan and I've got nothing."

"You could tell her the truth," Mikey says. "I'm sure she wouldn't be upset. It's not like Spinelli doesn't already know about your unwarranted hatred for this beautiful and sentimental holiday."

Both Gus and Vince shoot him looks.

"That's not a good idea," Gus says. He winces at his own thoughts and continues. "If she's expecting something and we tell him to do nothing, we'll all meet Madame Fist."

Vince shakes his head and completely ignores Mikey's idea, turning to me. "Okay, you definitely have to make a card. That's a given, so why don't you start on that and the three of us will work on the rest of the plan."

Mikey grabs his backpack and dumps it upside down on the floor. Markers, colored pencils, and tubes of glitter fall out, along with construction paper and other art materials. He leaves me on the floor with the supplies and joins Vince on the bed, the three of them huddled together making a plan. I sigh and take an inventory of what Mikey brought.

I'm no artist, but it's the thought that counts, right? I take a piece of red construction paper because red is her favorite color and think for a minute about what to do with it. I know Vince said no jokes, but I think she'd like something a little witty.

By the time I'm done, I'm pretty proud of my card. I cut the red piece into a heart and glued it to a piece of black that I just folded in a regular card shape. In the red heart, I used marker to write "Turns out I like you more than I originally planned" – it won't win any awards for prettiest card, but I like it. Not super girly, still witty. I'm satisfied.

I turn around and hold it out to the guys. "Finished with the card."

"Good, I think we've come to some conclusions over here, too," Vince says.

The three look up from the notebook he's writing in as Mikey takes the card from my hand. He holds it in front of them and the three all have various reactions – Gus grimaces, Vince shakes his head, and Mikey bites his lip.

"Cut me some slack on the artistry," I mutter.

Vince looks up. "Okay, so don't take this the wrong way, but this card looks like you're going to a funeral."

"Why did you pick black? That's not really festive," Gus adds.

I shrug. "She likes black."

"She likes ghosts, too. You wanna put some of those on your card?" Vince taunts.

"You know what the ghost said to his crush?" I ask. Gus shakes his head and before either of the other two can tell me to stop I say, "Will you be my ghoul-friend?"

Gus laughs but Vince groans.

"Teej, I know you're anti-Valentine's Day but you have to make it at least a little bit romantic. Spin deserves better than this."

"Just add some glitter," Mikey suggests. "It'll cut up all that blank space and give it more visual interest. As an artist, she'll appreciate that."

"Or, just cut a heart out of the pink, throw some glitter on it, and call it good. She liked your pink glitter in fourth grade, she'll be fine with it now," Vince says, holding out his notebook to me. I take it in my hands. "She won't even look at the card anyway after the day we have planned."

I scan the paper. "Number one: pick her up on time? Really?"

All of them raise their eyebrows at me and I decide my typical tardiness is not a fight to pick. Instead I skim through the agenda they have planned. It can't be too bad since it's a school day.

 _1\. Pick her up on time (set your alarm and put it across the room so you have to get up to turn it off)_  
 _2\. When you pick her up, bring her flowers (so she can leave them at home in water so they don't die)_  
 _3\. Stuff her locker with something fun like confetti_  
 _4\. Cook or bake something for her – girls love food_

"Flowers? Where am I supposed to get flowers on this short notice?" I exclaim. "And you all know I can't cook! This is going to be a disaster."

They all look between themselves.

"The flowers for tomorrow's Buy-A-Rose, Send-A-Rose already came in," Gus says. "You're class president. You have the key to the senate room."

"And the school's definitely not locked up yet anyway," Vince continues. "The girl's basketball team has a game tonight."

Mikey nods his head. "We can go over now, grab two, and you can give them to her in the morning," he says, holding his hands to his heart. "The two roses can symbolize the two of you – your love for each other blossoming from small seedlings in the garden of youth."

The other two nod their heads in agreement.

"Okay, so I'm guessing we'll do her locker when we go get the flowers?" They continue nodding. "That still doesn't address the fact that I can't cook."

Vince points to himself. "Leave that to me."

I shrug and look back through the list. "You really think these are good ideas?"

"The flowers are romantic, the confetti is for show, and the food is something shared between you and her," Gus says. "I think this sounds like a great plan."

"I'd like it if someone did all of these nice things for me on Valentine's Day," Mikey adds.

Vince just gives me a single nod.

I sigh. I just hope she appreciates this because it all just seems sort of phony to me. "Okay, let's do this."

We spend the next twenty minutes or so all cutting little hearts out of pink construction paper. Once we have what Gus deems is enough to stuff her locker with, we put them in a bag and head back over to the school. Gus and Vince go to town setting it up in her locker while Mikey and I attempt to pick out the best looking roses out of the bundles in the senate room. After that, we all head home for dinner before meeting back up at Vince's. We claim to be doing a project. In reality we're watching Vince bake cupcakes.

"Pretty tasty project, huh?" Mrs. LaSalle says as we're waiting for them to cool so we can start decorating.

"It's for math," Vince says at the same time Mikey says, "Home ec," and Gus says, "Health." I just shrug.

"Well, there are some very lucky girls in this town," she says with a smile, taking something out of the fridge and walking back out of the room. Over her shoulder, she adds, "My kitchen better be spotless, Vincent Pierre."

We all take some to decorate. Mine end up looking like a giant mess, so Vince wraps up one of the better looking ones he decorated.

"I can get the dishes," I offer, seems as I haven't done much else.

When I get home, I set my gifts on my desk and stare at them. They look nice. Vince wrapped the cupcake in a red box with a bow on it. The flowers are in water. The confetti in place. My card has since been replaced with a glittery heart Mikey and Gus put together when I refused to add glitter to the one I made.

I pull the other card out of my backpack and put it on my desk. I think I'll still give her the one I made. I sit down and glue a piece of white paper to the inside so the ink will show up on the black card and then I write a letter like Mikey suggested.

I'll give that to her last, end with a punch.

My alarm goes off entirely too early the next morning and it's all the way across the room, on my desk, so I can't press snooze. I press my palms into my eyes to wake myself up, cursing whichever corporate monster created Valentine's Day in the first place. Once I'm dressed, I grab the flowers and the glittery heart card and make my way downstairs. I'll get the other two later, it'll give me something to occupy myself with while she's at track.

My mother glances at the clock when I walk into the kitchen, probably surprised that I'm downstairs before my dad left for work. This might be the first time since elementary school that I've done that.

"You okay, sweetheart?" she asks.

My father laughs and claps my shoulder. "Ah, he's fine, Jan. Just hit by cupid's arrow," he jokes.

She fusses over me for a minute – telling me about how adorable this is, how much she loves Spinelli, how proud she is of me – and then I dip out of her grasp. I need to make it to Spin's before she leaves to come over here to grab me. Mikey was adamant about her being able to leave the roses in water so they don't die.

I take a deep breath before knocking on their door.

"Oh, TJ!" Mrs. Spinelli says when she opens the door. She turns her head frantically to look at a clock. "Is she late? I didn't realize it was–"

"Oh, no! I'm actually early today," I say. She looks instantaneously relieved. "I wanted to have enough time to stop by to give her these before we race out the door."

I pull the flowers out from behind my back and she quickly pulls me into the house as if I've just shown her a million bucks.

"Ashley!" she shouts as she guides me into the kitchen. "TJ's here!"

"TJ's _here?_ " she screams from upstairs.

Why is everyone so surprised that I can actually wake up to an alarm when it's important? I'm great with time when it comes to my plans and they should know that on holidays I'm going to have a great plan. Even if it is Valentine's Day.

Granted, I even beat Mr. Spinelli out the door this morning, so maybe this is a little surprising.

"Morning, TJ," he greets as he tops off his travel mug with coffee. "Those flowers for my little princess?"

"Actually, they're for you," I joke. He laughs and Mrs. Spinelli starts reminiscing about their first Valentine's Day together.

One of the perks of being best friends for ten years before becoming a couple is definitely already having a rapport with Spin's parents. To an outsider, I'm sure Mr. Spinelli could be intimidating based solely on the stories Spin tells about her family. But, that's all they are – stories. Joey never went to jail and her parents aren't secret agents. Her dad is a private investigator for the county, a former cop, not a secret agent. Joey may have 'majored in auto repair' like she said in elementary school to impress people but it wasn't in jail. He just studied at the vocational high school, better with his hands than he was sitting in a traditional classroom. Spin tells those stories to keep her reputation, but we all know the truth now. We finally figured out all the details in middle school. They're just a regular old family like all of ours, even if they embarrass her more than the rest of our parents do.

No, the way Mr. Spinelli is intimidating isn't in the hulking way most guys might think when they find out what he does. He's not the kind of guy to sit on the porch with a shotgun. He cares so much about Spin – they both do, and neither of her parents is afraid to make that known – and that's the intimidating part. I don't want to let them down because I agree with them. Spin's worth everything.

She walks into the kitchen right as her mom finishes her tale, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck and giving him a kiss. Spin groans.

"Come on, Mom," she mutters.

"Oh, Pookie, it's a day of love," she says and then she winks at me and I swear Spin turns as red as the hat on my head.

She takes my hand and nearly yanks my arm out of the socket as she pulls me toward the door. "We're going to school now! Bye!"

"Wait, hold up a sec," I say. She frowns, but stops. "I have something for you."

She doesn't react quite the way I expect when I hold out the flowers and the glitter heart for her. She looks at the flowers in my hand and then up at me, as if I'm playing a trick on her.

"Oh," she mumbles.

" _Ashley!"_ her mother hisses.

She shakes out of it and smiles at me, taking the flowers.

"Thanks, I just wasn't expecting anything," she says slowly. "Two roses?"

"They're supposed to symbolize us," I say. After repeating it in my head last night, I should have memorized what Mikey said that sounded so good, but I still end up butchering it. "You know, two flowers rising up like seeds?"

Yikes. That was terrible.

"How sweet is that?" Mrs. Spinelli coos, walking over and taking the flowers and glitter card from Spin's hand. "I'll put these in water for you."

Spin thanks her and then proceeds to drag me out of the house, away from her parents. She doesn't say a word as we head outside and grab our bikes. Neither of us are morning people and she did mention something about having a paper to write last night, but this is even a little unusual for her grumpiest mornings. So, as we clip our helmets on, I put a hand on her shoulder.

"What's up?"

"The sky," she shoots back. I don't back off though and she sighs, shrugging. "I just got thrown off. I wasn't expecting anything like that. You hate Valentine's Day."

"Yeah, but I like you so," I say, poking her side where I know she's ticklish. A smile breaks her scowl. There we go.

She pulls her backpack off her shoulders and sets it on her handlebars. "I actually have something for you, too," she says. She reaches inside and withdraws a green folder, holding it out for me to take. "It's not much, but..."

But it is.

She drew us.

In the picture, we're clearly kissing, but she's holding my baseball hat over our faces so you can't see. My hair is the typical mess it is when my hat comes off, matted in some spots and spiked in others. Spin nailed all the details – the twin French braids she wears in her hair almost every day, the stitching on my football jacket, and the smallest elements from the buckles on her boots to the way the laces on my right Vans always come loose. She even managed to somehow catch the subtle sheen of her leather jacket in the sunlight. I know she's a fantastic artist, but this looks like a picture.

"This is great," I breathe, the words inadequate.

She shakes off the compliment. "Well, I had to draw people in art class the other day and I guess, draw from experience, right?"

I don't say anything, my eyes still focused on the details. The mascot logo on my baseball hat is spot-on.

"I cheated anyway because I covered half our faces and that was the whole point of the assignment, so I couldn't pass it in for a grade," she mumbles. "I mean, I was going to give it to you anyway, so it's not a specific Valentine's Day gift or anything, but...I want you to have it."

"Thank you. This is...insane. It's so good, Spin. I love it."

The entire ride to school my mind is on the picture in my backpack. I don't see her drawings often. I didn't choose art as my elective like she did – my creative abilities do not include art, I mean, look at my card – and she isn't one to boast. Her parents have tried to get her to do more classes outside of school but she always declines. She says she wants to keep it as a hobby and doesn't want it to feel like work at all. She uses drawing more as an outlet, so when we get the privilege to see what she has created, we cherish it.

I know she said it's not a "Valentine's Day" gift but I'm so glad I have something to give her in exchange now.

We park our bikes in the rack and start walking up to the school. A few of her teammates are sitting on the back patio area and wave her over. I usually walk her to her locker in the mornings, but today will be hectic anyway with the Buy-A-Rose, Send-A-Rose going on. So, before I let her hand go, I give it a squeeze and encourage her to join her friends.

"I have some more surprises for you today," I tell her. "So, don't go making plans after track, okay?"

"Really?" she asks.

Why is she surprised? Yes, I'm not the biggest fan of February fourteenth but I can still do something nice. Besides, wasn't she expecting this?

"Of course, I do. I've got a whole plan."

The skepticism fades and turns into a slow smile. "Well, I'm excited to see what you've got up your sleeves."

She leans up to give me a quick peck before jogging over to the other girls and I make my way inside. Dread sinks in with each step I take toward the senate room.

Because the Ashleys have taken this particular fundraiser as their own, you would think I could lean back and relax, not have to worry about it. Wrong. I get to spend a good majority of my day making sure they're not doing anything I wouldn't do. Like they did last year. They told everyone in our freshman class that they had to buy at least one rose or they'd make sure the rest of the poor kid's year was miserable. Ashley Q even told people that if they didn't have someone to give the rose to, they could send it to her. We raised a ton of money and Ashley Q walked out with three bouquets of roses, but our advisor, Mr. Gomez, wasn't thrilled about the manipulation tactics.

Three of them are in the senate room when I arrive, arranging the flowers by appearance, best looking to worst looking. I shake my head.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Ashley A flips her hair over her shoulder. "Like, we can't expect people to pay the same amount of money for these flowers–" she points to two full vases on the left and then points to the vases at the other end of the long table "–as these ones."

I shouldn't have to say it, but I do. "Every flower costs a dollar."

"Uh, no," Ashley Q snaps. "Those two vases are premium. They cost two dollars now."

"People will pay for quality," Ashley B says, sitting on the table with her legs crossed while looking bored, staring at her nails. "Trust us, Det-whiner."

Great. Mr. Gomez is going to kill us. By the time we graduate, we'll have raised a ton of money for our proms, but the five of us may be suspended for manipulating our classmates in the process.

"Can we put you down for the two dollar ones?" Ashley A asks. "I'm totally sure Spinelli would love some flowers."

"Even if she is a little tomboy," Ashley Q says through her teeth.

The Ashleys have gotten marginally better since Third Street in that they've stopped picking on most people in school to their faces. Behind everyone's back, that's a different story, but for the most part anyone who didn't go to Third Street with us has been exempt from an outright Ashley bully session. Those of us who did happen to go to Third Street still get the occasional insult to the face, but it's nothing we can't handle.

However, Spinelli still antagonizes them, so that battle is still going strong. Ashley versus Ashley, Spin says, and the Ashleys agree with her. It's almost like the five of them get some sort of weird enjoyment out of seeing each other miserable – but only if an Ashley causes the misery. Earlier this year when the Megans decided to take a stab at Spinelli, trying to bully her in the hallway, the Ashleys immediately came to her defense. They shut the Megans down before the rest of our gang even heard about the situation. I thought that was going to be the end of this Ashley War they've had going since kindergarten, but two days later it started right back up, if only a little less strong. I think Ashley A doesn't mind Spin and might actually respect her a bit, so I think it's mostly just for show or nostalgia that the group enjoys riling her up.

That, and Ashley Q hates her guts. Gretchen thinks Ashley Q is jealous because she hasn't had a boyfriend yet while Ashley A and Ashley B both have and she's taking a lot of that out on Spinelli. But Spin can handle Ashley Q, so unless she asks me to step in, I'm not touching that.

"I took some already, check the ledger."

They do and Ashley A seems to appreciate it. "Sneaky," she says with what almost sounds like approval in her voice.

The door opens behind me and Ashley T joins us. She smiles.

"TJ, nice job on the locker!" she says. "That was really cute."

 _Oh, shit._ I completely forgot about that part of the gift. I sent Spin on her way without a second thought this morning. She opened her locker and I wasn't even there to see it happen.

"Wait, like, what locker?" Ashley B asks, looking up from her nails for the first time. Not wanting to miss out on any hot gossip, I suppose.

"He put little cutout hearts in Spinelli's locker so when she opened it they all came flooding out," Ashley T explains, putting a hand over her heart. "I wish someone would do something like that for me."

Ashley Q shakes her head at me. "Like, all of that cute affection wasted on _her_ ," she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

I turn to Ashley T. "Did she like it?"

She nods her head. "She looked so surprised at first, but, like, after a minute and _everyone_ squealing because it was totally adorable she let the smile slip."

I wish I could have seen it in person.

"Hey, is this where we buy those flowers?" I hear someone say in the doorway.

"Yes! Two dollars," Ashley A says. And the dude actually goes to give them two dollars.

"No, no!" I say, holding my hands out to stop the transaction. "It's only a dollar. A dollar for a rose."

Ashley Q sidesteps me. "But, like, it's _two_ dollars for a good one. And I bet you want a good one, don't you?" She bats her eyelashes at him and the kid nods. "Perfect. Ashley B, get him a _good_ rose."

I put my face in my hands.

"It's called business strategy, Detweiler," Ashley B says after the kid leaves.

"It's called cheating, Boulet."

All four of them roll their eyes.

The rest of my school day goes very similarly to that. Mr. Gomez actually pulls me out of English, my one class with Spin, to discuss the 'business strategy' the Ashleys have concocted. I spend lunch running around like a chicken with my head cutoff returning dollar bills to the suckers who actually listened to the Ashleys. I barely get a chance to go to my locker to my switch my books.

Vince is standing at my locker when I get there.

"Where have you been, man?" he demands. "All that work yesterday and Spin says you've said like four words to her all day."

I glare at him and tell him about the morning I've had.

He winces. "People actually paid the two dollars? Who did that?"

"More people than there were 'good' roses," I grumble. I slam my head into the metal. "I hate Valentine's Day."

He chuckles. "So we know."

I take another book out of my locker and exchange it for one in my backpack. "How was lunch?" I ask as I toss the other book back in my locker. At least Vince can fill me in on what happened while I was cleaning up the Ashleys' mess. "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," he says, but I don't miss the look he gives me. Like he's disappointed. "Well, Spin didn't get her cupcake like she was supposed to because you were cleaning up after the Ashleys, but otherwise not much."

I shake my head. Sometimes Vince can get a little high-and-mighty, especially when it comes to Spinelli and Gretchen. He's become increasingly protective of the two of them over the years. Spin and Vince have a relationship similar to mine with Becky, where they bicker like crazy but still really care about each other. So for Vince to not be able to see his handiwork with the cupcake and Spin's reaction to it must be killing him. But, it's not his gift, even if he did decorate it. It's from me.

"She wasn't getting it now anyway," I say, zipping my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. "I'm giving it to her after school."

"Ah, crap," Vince says to himself, his eyes falling to his shoes. He looks sheepish when he turns back to me. "I brought one for Gretch. I didn't want her to feel left out when you gave yours to Spinelli." He rubs the back of his neck. "I told her she had something coming too, but then you never showed up and I think I just made Spin feel left out instead."

This is why I hate Valentine's Day. Ultimately, someone always gets their feelings hurt, whether it's joke cards or actually well thought-out plans or not getting a gift or a rose. I just didn't think it'd be Spinelli this year.

My heart drops into my stomach. "Really?"

"Yeah, she looked kind of bummed," he says quietly. He winces and shrugs at me. "But, I thought you'd show up for at least a little bit of lunch. So I didn't think twice about handing Gretchen hers when I sat down."

"This is turning into a disaster," I mumble.

"Sorry."

I shake my head.

"It's not your fault. It's the stupid Ashleys and their stupid schemes." I groan, running my hands down my face. I let out a breath and turn back to him. "Besides, you're a good friend for thinking of Gretchen like that."

"Yeah, with us doing all that for Spin last night I didn't want Gretch to think she wasn't as important just because she's not dating you," he says, elbowing me as we start walking.

"Exactly, we're all important members of this group," I say. Even if I didn't pay a passing thought to Gretchen at all – _great job, Teej_. I'm ready for this day to be done.

We split ways at the stairs, where Vince continues to the basement for his history class and I head to math. He and Spin are in the same class, so I ask him to do me a favor.

"Hey, when you see Spin, will you let her know I'm sorry I missed lunch and I'll see her after track practice?" I ask before he continues down the stairs.

"Of course, dude." He gives me a salute.

After school, I race home and drop my bike, grabbing the last parts to Spin's present before trekking back to school on foot. I figure that after her practice lets out, we can walk home together, give us a little extra time before she has to start her homework. I can walk her bike as she holds her cupcake box. It sounds like a decent plan to me.

As I go to grab the box, I notice my card and decide to leave it on my desk. I'll extend our time just a little bit by telling her that her last gift is in my room and she needs to go get it. Even if it only gives us an extra couple of minutes, it's better than nothing.

Once I get to the school, I sit at one of the picnic tables on the back patio and wait for the girls to be let out. This day can't get any worse. The Ashleys have grinded my nerves to the point where I feel like I could jump down someone's throat. I'm usually pretty unflappable, but my plan hasn't gone like I wanted. I guess Spin received all the presents like she was supposed to, but I haven't seen her nearly at all. At this point, all I want to do is see her.

Eventually, the girls start flooding out of the school. The track team practices in the hallways, sprinting back and forth, back and forth. I almost got run over once while doing some senate stuff after school. I came up the stairs without thinking and nearly collided with one of the hurdlers. I try to stay away now.

When Spin comes out, she's alone and she doesn't look happy. I'm hoping that once she sees me, that will change, but when I wave her over, her scowl doesn't budge. She stomps over, tossing her bag on the table and nearly takes out the cupcake with it. I scramble to grab it before the box goes flying and turn to look up at her. What could possibly make her this angry? Maybe someone said something to her? Or she got replaced for her track event this weekend?

"What's up?" I ask.

Her eyes narrow in on my hands. Not my face. And she gives this nasty little laugh, more like a snort really, crossing her arms and looking down at me.

"Ah, the last present," she sneers.

I frown. Where is this coming from?

"How do you know it's last?" I ask, adding a teasing tone to my voice so she knows she's wrong. Her card is last. This is just to tide her over until we get there.

"It is, right?" she asks, a hard edge to her voice. "This is Vince's present, three of three."

 _Vince's present?_ "What are you talking about? Everything is from me."

She stares at me, her mouth dropping before she shakes her head.

"But that's just it, TJ, it's not from you," she says. I go to cut in but she holds up her hand, wordlessly telling me to stop. "The roses this morning? If that wasn't Mikey's poetry you recited, then I'm not Italian. And the little hearts in my locker? Try and tell me that wasn't Gus. Sweet in theory, but so impractical that it definitely wasn't your idea."

She has me there.

Spin continues. "And I know for a fact that this is a cupcake from Vince because he gave one to Gretchen at lunch today in the same box. A chocolate one with vanilla frosting because he knows that's her favorite and which one did I get?"

I can't remember what we made now. I thought we made spice cake, but now that she mentioned the chocolate cupcake, I'm hoping that's not what she got. She snatches the box out of my hands, opening it and withdrawing the dessert out of the packaging.

"Spice cake with cream cheese frosting because that's my favorite," she says, peeling a little of the liner back so she can show me what's inside. She's correct. Vince did make two separate batters just to please both of them. She slams it back in the box and presses it back in my hands. "And he knows that but do you? Or did you even care enough to think about it?"

Wait a second. Yes, I may not have made the cupcake, but I know what she likes. And I care about her. This is why I did this in the first place! She wanted Valentine's Day, so that's what I did. I gave her what she wanted.

I set the box on the table before I stand up and mimic her, crossing my arms in the same way she has hers.

"Hey, I care about you," I say. "Why do you think I did all of this?"

"Did all of this?" she exclaims. "TJ, you didn't do any of this!"

"Yeah, I didn't bake your cupcake and I didn't come up with the symbolism poetry or whatever, but this whole plan–"

"No, this is not one of your famous plans like you made me believe this morning," she barks. "This is you not wanting to bother with anything for Valentine's Day, so you solicited our best friends to do things so you wouldn't have to and still look good."

I throw my arms in the air. "Yesterday, you said you wanted something big."

She looks confused. "No, I didn't," she denies.

Oh, she didn't, did she?

"Yes, you did," I argue, pointing my finger in her face for added emphasis. She swats it away. "After we stopped at Kelso's."

"What?" she roars. "When did I ever say anything like that? I didn't even think we were doing anything for Valentine's Day because, newsflash, you _hate_ Valentine's Day."

"Not doing anything? You gave me a gift!" I hiss.

"Because I was going to give it to you anyway but I wasn't going to make a big deal about it. I wasn't even going to give it to you today, but then you showed up at my house this morning with roses–"

Her voice cracks on 'roses' and she turns her face away from me. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet, no longer yelling at me, and she doesn't look up from her shoes.

"I've been so confused all day because for as long as I've known you you've hated Valentine's Day and that's fine by me. I don't care if you give me flowers or gifts," she says. She bites her bottom lip briefly and her voice begins to waver. "But what I do care about is the fact that you didn't trust me enough to tell me that and instead you made Vince, Mikey, and Gus do things that you could play off as your own."

The quiver of her voice makes my heart pound. I can deal with an angry Spinelli. Spin has the shortest fuse of anyone I know, so anger is a given with her. Even the tiniest thing can set her off and she's been that way since we were little, so something like this would of course leave her fuming. But, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her visibly distraught like this. I hate the tremble in her voice and I hate myself for putting it there.

I swallow the lump in my throat so I can talk. "That's not what I was trying to do at all."

She still hasn't looked up from her shoes, but I can see her face. She clenches her eyes shut, her face reddening with the passing seconds. She reaches up to grab at her necklace, looking desperate for something to hold onto. She makes a fist around the small golden cross she wears every day, the one her mom gave her for her confirmation.

"You promised when we got together that we would be best friends first, that we wouldn't let the relationship get in the way of our friendship," she whimpers. "And today I feel like you forgot everything about me."

"Spin." My voice cracks too.

She throws her other hand over her eyes and stands there for a beat, making a choking sound in her throat, before she pushes by me to grab her bag from the picnic table.

"I can't do this right now. I'm gonna go to Gretchen's. I'll talk to you later," she says in between deep breaths and then she's sprinting away from me toward the bike rack.

She's gone before my body even registers that it should move.

I groan loudly and stomp toward the trash, throwing the box with too much force. It makes a loud clang as it hits the side of the opening before it falls in bag. I storm down the steps and start walking home, groaning and grumbling and taking off my cap so I can pull at my hair.

What the hell was I thinking? Well, I wasn't thinking. Clearly. How did this get so screwed up? Everything was fine until yesterday, until I listened to the guys, until I spun Spinelli's words into an assumption that wasn't true. Why am I such an idiot? She has every right to be upset with me.

I take the long way so I can avoid Kelso's and only return to Third Street once I know I'm passed the shop. It's a hassle, but at least then I won't have to walk by that store window, see all those stupid display roses and all the stupidly happy couples with their stupid heart-shaped chocolate boxes.

My heart pounds in my chest as I start walking passed the playground. Just yesterday we were so happy, kissing and laughing and joking around. I never thought I could ever feel this way near Third Street School. Some of my best memories of us are on this playground. She told me she would be my friend on the monkey bars in the kindergarten area. We kissed for the first time behind the dumpster. We told our friends we were dating in the schoolyard on Christmas Eve almost two months ago and then we made out for the first time on top of Old Rusty after they left.

She's probably going to break up with me now and I can't say I blame her. Not only was I a crappy boyfriend, but, like she said, I broke my promise. I let it affect our friendship. I was trying so hard to be the good boyfriend that I didn't remember that Spin, my best friend, is the same girl that I'm dating. She didn't change. But I did. I hurt her. I hurt her badly and it doesn't matter if I meant to do it or not.

The lump is back in my throat.

There is an empty soda can on the sidewalk and I kick it with the toe of my shoe. It bounces ahead of me a couple of times, coming to a stop in front of the fence near the school parking lot, completely upright, looking as if it didn't get kicked at all. For some reason, it just makes me mad, and I stop walking so I can properly kick it. I wind up and boot it as hard as possible. It crashes into the chain-link of the fence, rattling loudly. Two seconds later, I hear footsteps stomping.

"Rotten lousy kids and their manners these days," the person mumbles and when he rounds the corner onto the sidewalk, I see the source of the voice is Principal Prickly, holding his briefcase, clearly heading out for the day. "I'll show them detention all right, they'll never– _Detweiler?_ "

Principal Prickly threw a party on my last day at Third Street – gave all the kids ice cream, let us get away with anything, even threw out some of my best jokes of all time, admitting over the loud speaker that maybe he did have a fat saggy butt. Ms. Finster thought he'd gone insane. But, as the bell was ringing and my friends were all running as fast as they could out the doors, he pulled me aside and just shook my hand.

"Thought you saw the last of me, didn't you?" I joke, but it comes out flat. So much for being able to hide behind my jokes.

"What are you doing kicking cans into my fence?" he asks.

"It was one can," I mumble. I lean back into the fence and pull my hat low over my face.

It's a small enough town that I've run into Prickly once or twice, but I've never had much more than some small talk with him since leaving Third Street for Spiro T. Agnew. So, I'm sort of expecting him to just turn around and leave me be. To be honest, I think he surprises both of us when he comes to stand beside me against the fence.

"What's got you so down, TJ?"

"I messed up," I say, my voice cracking. I take a breath and look up to see him staring at me with concern. "You remember Spinelli?"

He raises his eyebrows at me, as if he can't believe I asked the question. "Ashley Spinelli? _Of course_ I remember her. Girl was practically sewed to your hip."

I shrug. Prickly has a lot of kids.

"I had a headache for seven years because of the two of you and your group of little miscreants." He shakes his head at some memory. "What are the two of you up to now?"

"We started dating in December and it's been going really well until, well, I messed it up today."

I rehash the whole mess and when I finish Prickly just shakes his head.

"Boy, TJ, I've never seen a kid take Valentine's Day to the extremes like you do," he says. "You know, you scared Ms. Grotke into checking every card in every kid's bag because of your joke cards?"

"Go big or go home, I guess," I mutter.

He sighs. My apathy must be affecting him too.

"But, you see, TJ, I think you've got this Valentine's Day thing all wrong," he says.

That surprises me. I never pegged Prickly as a romantic.

Then again, I never pegged myself as someone who would make Spinelli cry so maybe I'm not a great judge of character.

"Really, Principal Prickly? You buy into all this crap?"

"Sure, I'll give you the big corporate part of it. But you don't have to buy into that," he says. "No one is telling you to buy the cheesy little cards or a dozen roses or a box of crappy chocolate down at Kelso's."

"But, whenever you ask someone about romantic stuff, that's what they tell you to do," I say, thinking about Mikey, Vince, and Gus. When I suggested anything outside of the 'holiday theme' I got crazy looks.

"Romance is in the eye of the beholder," he tells me. "I'll give you an example. I've been married to my wife for thirty-five years and I've never once bought a rose on Valentine's Day."

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you do?"

"We do the same thing every year. We go out to eat where we had our first date and then we watch a movie while we eat ice cream right out of the carton."

"Really?"

I snort at the image that appears in my head of Prickly doing just that and try to cover it up with a cough. Prickly either doesn't hear or doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he just nods and continues.

"Valentine's Day is not about the cards or the flowers. It's about the relationship you're celebrating. You need to do what's special for you and Spinelli. Not what sounds romantic and not what other people tell you is romantic."

I was always the one hating on Valentine's Day for that very reason – because people did things for the wrong reasons in the name of, what, love? Handing out little cards with candy attached? Giving someone a box of chocolates? It seemed hokey at nine and it's just plain impersonal now. That's exactly what Spinelli said yesterday.

I didn't listen to a word she said. What did I do instead? I listened to Mikey, Gus, and Vince who, in their own way, did what they thought was right. But it's not right for _me_ to do for her.

"I'm an idiot."

"You're a teenager," he says. "Your brain isn't quite done cooking yet."

"Does that mean yours is well done?" I joke. He glares at me. "Hey, it's a compliment."

"Only you, Detweiler," he mutters, pushing back from the fence and preparing to leave.

"Hey, Principal Prickly," I say. He stops, humoring me in whatever I have to say next, at least for now. "Before you go, does that well-done brain of yours have any advice? I think I could use some."

He looks me up and down, as if appraising me. He should know by now that, as troublesome as I was when I was in the fourth grade, I still appreciated him. I still listened to him. Yes, I may have made his day-to-day life fairly miserable, but I respect him.

He must determine that I'm willing to listen to him and his advice won't fall on deaf ears because he relaxes and starts in on me.

"Well, TJ, I think you and Spinelli need to talk some things through," he says. He steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Being in a relationship is all about communication."

"What are you talking about? We talk," I insist, cutting him off before he can finish his advice. "It's not like all we do is kiss each other now. We're still best friends." I sigh, remembering what she said earlier and mumble, more to myself than to him, "Best friends first."

"Well, from the sound of your story, you didn't communicate very well," he says haughtily, clearly not happy with my interruption. He softens though when he notices my shoulders have slumped again. "Neither one of you did a good job of that it seems, you or her."

"I've been best friends with her since kindergarten. I thought I knew."

"You know what they say about people who assume," he says. Yeah, _they make an ass out of u and me_ , but he cuts me off before I can say it. "I'm not saying your intentions weren't in the right place, but if you had talked to her rather than just assumed you understood what she meant, I don't think you'd be talking to me right now."

"You're right."

"You should go talk to her."

He makes it sound so easy because he didn't see her. Maybe if I told him that I made her cry he'd realize how bad this actually is. She didn't even cry when she broke her arm in fifth grade during a football game at recess. Even Prickly, who hasn't seen her in years, knows that Spinelli doesn't cry over anything.

Good job, TJ. Pat yourself on the back.

"She doesn't want to see me," I say, sighing. "I'm pretty sure she hates me right about now."

Prickly shakes his head. "I'm sure she's not happy, but hate is a strong word. Especially for the two of you." He puts his hands on my shoulders. "TJ, the worst thing you can do is run away when you mess up. You have to own it."

When he says it, I think about the joke cards I wrote in fourth grade. I literally ran away from that. After telling every girl to keep it to herself that I made her a _special_ card, they collectively chased me down. I thought I had learned my lesson then, but apparently not. Now I've messed up again and the consequences are a lot worse than just getting lip gloss smeared on my face.

I look briefly over my shoulder to the playground. "Man, I miss being a kid sometimes. My problems weren't quite so dramatic."

"I seem to remember your _dramatics_ a little differently," he mumbles. I turn back, seeing him shaking his head. He gestures to his hair. "See all this gray? That's all you. Every last one of them."

"Oh, come on, I wasn't that bad."

"You ordered a boat for the kindergarteners with the school account. You nearly got me arrested for giving your class a mandatory lecture on personal hygiene," he says, ticking off my pranks on his finger. "And don't forget the time you were kissing behind the dumpster."

That gets my attention. "You knew about that?"

I didn't realize any of the adults in school knew about the experiment. All the kids knew, sure, but that's because everyone was curious. If we had known the teachers knew we kissed each other back then, I think Spin and I would have actually died of embarrassment.

"Hank saw you all out there when he was taking out the trash," he says, shaking his head. "Ms. Grotke, Ms. Finster, and I, we were all watching you and Spinelli like hawks trying to figure out if this was something we needed to address or not." He gives a chuckle that's not really a funny chuckle but more of a cynical one. "And you thought the hygiene lecture was bad? Boy, you almost got a whole lot worse."

This is humiliating. We thought it was this huge secret and our teachers probably thought we were these overly precocious fourth graders. They were probably terrified of us in sixth grade when puberty started to really hit. I'm glad Spin's not here to listen to this. She'd be mortified.

I rub the back of my neck. "It was just an experiment."

"Yeah, that's what Menlo said," Prickly says. "But for a minute there I was ready to quit. Saggy butt jokes I can handle. I did not sign up for fourth graders kissing each other. That's a middle school problem."

"At least Hank didn't catch us making out on top of Old Rusty a couple months ago."

Prickly balks at my flippant comment. He looks a little uncomfortable with the turn our conversation is starting to take. I'm sure he looks at me and remembers me as a pesky fourth grader and doesn't want to think about Spin and me kissing each other. I smirk. Now we can both be embarrassed.

"I don't care what you do, just don't do it on my playground," he says after a minute. "I don't need anyone getting any ideas from you."

Might be too late, considering what happened yesterday with the third graders watching us kiss. But, I won't tell him that. I'll help him keep a few black hairs from turning gray.

When I finally get back home, I stop by Spin's first and see her bike isn't back in its typical spot yet. I go in my house and grab the card off my desk before taking up a spot on my front porch. From my spot, I can see when Spinelli rides by and I can hopefully get to her before she goes in her house and disappears for the rest of the night.

While I wait, I open the inside of the card and skim through it. I want to make sure I know what it says before I give it to her, make sure it says exactly what I want it to say.

I've dotted the 'I' in her nickname with a little skull. I hope she appreciates this now, after what went down today, and doesn't see it as a joke. The rest of my letter inside the card is thoughtful and honest, nothing in it is anything I wouldn't want to say to her in person, so I decide this is it. This is my last effort at repairing what I've potentially destroyed.

In hindsight, I should have just given her the card. Why did I think I needed to give her a bunch of gifts when my words have always been my strong suit?

It's dark by the time she shows up. I jump up off the porch and sprint after her bike, thankful that her house is only three doors down from mine. She pulls up beside the garage and drops her bike, her back to me.

She doesn't turn around to look at me, but she knows I'm there because she says, "I don't want to talk to you right now."

"I know, but I need to say something and you may not accept it but I'm sorry." I let out a breath. "I'm really sorry. I never meant for you to feel like you did today and I swear I only had the best intentions."

She turns around and crosses her arms. In the darkness, I can't make out her facial expression well, but I know she's not smiling.

"I should have talked to you first," I say, remembering what Principal Prickly said. He's right. "When I thought you wanted some big Valentine's Day plan, I was so scared of disappointing you that I just assumed that I knew exactly what you were thinking. I guess, you're right, I wanted to be the best boyfriend, and so I went to the guys instead of checking with you to see if it was what you really wanted. And for that I'm really sorry."

She drops her arms to her sides and sighs. "You were just trying to be nice," she mumbles. "I didn't have to rip your head off."

"Well, I hurt you," I say. She doesn't deny it and that hurts worse than not talking to her. "That wasn't my intention, but I did, and I'm sorry. I was so busy hating on one part of Valentine's Day that I lost sight of what the whole thing is really about, which is ironic because I'm always the one trying to make that point."

I hold out the card. "You were wrong earlier. This is the last gift."

"You already gave me a card."

"This is the real one."

She lets out an angry-sounding breath through her nose. "This better not be a joke card."

"It's not. I know you can't read it in the dark, but I hope you'll at least look it over before you rip it up. This is the one thing I actually did all on my own – with Mikey's supplies, but the words are all mine."

She takes the card out of my outstretched hand and looks down at her feet. I brace myself for the break up.

But, then I think, what I've written in the card is meant for Spinelli my girlfriend, not Spinelli my ex-girlfriend. So, I decide to give her an out. Maybe that way, if we break up and she still reads the card, it won't feel so pathetic? She won't think I'm a loser? We can stay friends? Maybe. Hopefully. Because if my heart is already breaking at the thought of not being her boyfriend, it would shatter into a million pieces if I ruined our friendship too.

"I know you're upset with me and you're probably pissed. I get it. I feel the same way. But I hope we can at the very least still be best friends," I tell her.

I see her visibly tense, noticeable even in the darkness. Maybe that wasn't a great idea. Maybe she doesn't want to be friends. Oh, man, this hurts.

"Gus mentioned joint custody the other day, in case we ever broke up. Kind of like divorce, get it? So, you know, we can do that with the gang," I continue. Fuck, I'm rambling. "So, don't worry about them. They'll figure it out. Totally up to you."

Shut the fuck up, TJ.

"I have ballet tomorrow morning," she says quietly, almost breathy, like her mind is elsewhere and the words are just placeholders. "So, I'll see you in English?"

I nod. "See you in English." Then, I stuff my hands in my pockets. "'Night, Spin."

"Goodnight."

I give her one last sad little half-smile before turning around and walking back down the street. I ignore my parents as they bombard me with questions and try to feed me dinner. It seems like they hadn't noticed me on the porch, or perhaps they hadn't wanted to bother me. Either way, I'm not hungry and I don't feel like talking, so instead I bypass them and head upstairs, telling them I have a ton of homework. They believe me. Why wouldn't they? How would they know how big of a screw up I am?

I bury my head under the pillow and attempt to keep myself from crying. It doesn't work.

The telephone rings sometime later. I can hear my mother downstairs talking. It seems like she's talking about me – " _He's upstairs doing homework now. Is she not home yet...Oh, poor thing. He didn't say anything, but let me go ask. I'll let you know..."_ – and I try to drown her out my turning on my stereo, loudly bumping music.

But, my dad knocks on the door. I don't hear him, but I know his habits, so when he shouts at me over my bed I know he already knocked on the door, waited for my response, and then entered anyway when he heard nothing. Classic Sam Detweiler right there.

"TJ!" he shouts. I lift my head out of the pillow. "Can you turn that down?"

I shut it off.

"Son, what's with the music? You're acting like your sister."

Oh, great. Thanks, Dad. That's exactly what I want to hear right now.

"TJ, honey," my mom says, poking her head in. "That was Flo."

Oh, even better. Spin's breaking up with me via our parents.

"Do you know if something happened to Spinelli at school today? Or at track practice? She's really upset and she won't tell them why."

Oh, you mean like me? I happened to Spinelli.

"I don't want to talk–" My voice cracks. Dammit.

That gets my mom in my room, sitting on the edge of the bed. I feel like a toddler again, with my parents calming me down after a nightmare. Only, this isn't a nightmare. Before long, I've blubbered out the basics – I suck, Spin hates me, and we're heading for disaster. I catch the look my parents share between them, all wide eyes and concern.

Maybe I just shouldn't have told Spin I liked her in the first place. Maybe we could still be friends if that was the case.

My parents, luckily, leave me alone after a while. They knock occasionally to ask if I want water or if I'm hungry. I take the water but even hearing the word food makes me nauseous. My mom says goodnight after I tell her that and leaves me to my thoughts. How can I eat when I have no idea what Spin and I are going to be tomorrow? Are we going to be okay, working on our relationship? Will we just say, hey we tried and we failed, let's go back to being best friends? Can we even try to be friends after this?

Prickly was wrong. I shouldn't have gone to talk to her. I should have let the dust settle first.

Around nine, my mother knocks on the door again. I almost tell her to go away, but at the last minute, I change my mind and shout for her to come in. The door opens and I realize it's not my mother. Even without looking up, I know it's Spinelli.

"My mom must want to get this over with if she let you up at nine o'clock," I say.

I meant it to be a joke, but it comes out flat, like my joke for Prickly had earlier. I expect a witty retort about my bad joke, but it doesn't come, so I look up. Even from my bed I can tell her eyes are bloodshot as her bottom lip quivers. Her face is red and blotchy, evidence that this crying episode didn't start now, but long before she even arrived. I instantaneously jump out of my bed to walk toward her.

"Hey," I say softly, using my thumbs to wipe the tears off her face. "What's the matter?"

"Please, don't break up with me," she cries.

I wrap my arms around her and let her press her face into my chest. I rest my cheek on top of her head and rub her back.

"Where did you get that idea?" I ask into her hair.

If anyone was breaking up this relationship, I figured it would be her. That's what I've been preparing myself for all night.

She keeps her head on my chest, but moves her face so she can talk. "I overreacted. You were trying to be good and I yelled at you and told you that you didn't care about me, but I know you do. I should have listened and not wrote you off like I did," she rambles. "I'm sorry. I hurt you and I'm sorry."

I lead her back to my bed so we can sit down. I move back so I'm against the headboard and pull her with me, letting her curl up in my lap and she continues to cry. While she does, I stroke her hair and whisper in her ear. Once the tears subside, she looks up at me and wipes tears from my own face similarly to how I did for her.

"We're a mess," she says.

"A hot mess though," I joke. She rolls her eyes, but it also makes her laugh.

"So, did we just survive our first big fight?" she asks, her voice still weaker than I would like to hear it, as if she's unsure that I'm going to agree that we survived it.

"If you'll still have me."

"You mean, if you'll still have me," she says. I can feel her body tense again, as if she's going to cry. "Teej, I blew up at you for getting me flowers and gifts on Valentine's Day. What sort of girlfriend does that?"

"A girl whose boyfriend had their three friends do all the work for him and didn't listen to a word his girlfriend said," I say, tugging one of her braids to try and cheer her up. "We both messed up and I think we learned our lesson."

"Don't celebrate Valentine's Day?"

I shake my head. "We need to talk to each other. Just because we've been friends forever doesn't mean we can just assume we know everything the other is thinking."

She nods. "You're right."

"So, crisis averted for now," I say. She agrees and snuggles closer to me and it's then that I notice she has the card in her hand. "Did you read your card?"

Spin looks up at me sheepishly. "No," she says quietly. "I walked in my house and just started crying because I thought we were breaking up. I didn't want to read it if that was the case."

I tighten my arms around her. "Well, now you can."

She lifts the card. "I like the front."

"Read the inside." Her eyebrows rise in shock when she sees the length. The letter is long at five paragraphs, but all of it comes directly from my heart. She looks up at me. "Go on."

"Will you read it?" she asks, holding it up to me. "I want to hear it in your voice."

I take it in one of my hands, keeping the other arm around her. Then I start talking.

" _Spin –"_

"I like the little skull," she says, interrupting me, pointing to where I've dotted the 'I' in Spin.

I give her a squeeze. "You liked it in fourth grade, too." She tenses at the memory and I kiss the top of her head. "But, I promise, this isn't a joke card like that one was."

"That'd be a long joke," she deadpans.

"Will you let me read it?" I tease. She moves her hand away so I can read.

" _You know I'm not the biggest fan of Valentine's Day, but experiencing it with you is the only way I'd want to do it. When I think about Valentine's Day, I think about love, but more so than the fancy flowers and other gifts I've already given you today. No rose, confetti, or cupcake can adequately show you how much I care about you. I hope my words can at least provide a little insight._

" _I still remember the first time I saw you. We were sitting at different desk clumps in Mrs. Klemperer's class on the first day of kindergarten and she was having us go around introducing ourselves. When it was your turn, you stood up on your chair, doll under one arm and lifted the fist of your free hand. 'I wanna go by Spinelli,' you said, cutting off our teacher before she could say your name was Ashley, 'and if you call me anything else you can talk to Madame Fist.' You sat back down and Mrs. Klemperer was so shocked by your self-confidence that she didn't even make you elaborate like she did the rest of us, who had to tell everyone our favorite colors and toys and numbers, and she went straight on to Gretchen. And I can't remember anything about what Gretch said because I wasn't paying attention. Instead, when you sat down, I turned to Vince, my new best friend, and told him that we needed to meet you at recess and that you needed to be our other best friend."_

"I can't believe you remember that," she says quietly as I pause before moving on to the next paragraph.

"Are you kidding?" I tease, removing arm from around her to quickly tug on her braid. "A tiny girl stands up on her chair in class and doesn't get yelled at when she basically threatens everyone with bodily harm? Of course I'm going to remember that."

She laughs and I return to holding her.

"Is that true?" she asks, pointing to the end of the second paragraph. "You told Vince you needed to be friends with me."

"Of course. I was unknowingly smitten," I joke. She rolls her eyes and goes to look back down, but I stop her before she can completely look away. "Everything I wrote is true."

She recognizes the seriousness of my voice and returns to looking at the card so I can continue.

" _You impressed me when we were five years old and I continue to be impressed by you every day. Whether you're standing up for someone in the hallways or putting aside your own convictions to help a friend, you use your authority, your strength, and your heart to help others. You have a fire that I hope never dies, enough sass and wit to put anyone in a corner, and you constantly have me laughing with your sarcastic sense of humor. Your temper could use a longer fuse – I'm kidding – but that's just another of the many traits you possess that have crept up on me slowly over the years."_

She places her hand over mine, where it's resting on her stomach. My arm tightens around her as I read the next parts.

" _I used to think the butterflies that developed not too long after that infamous experiment whomped more than anything in the world. It was not part of my plan to get a crush on you. But, at ten and eleven (and all through middle school, let's be honest here), I didn't understand that the butterflies weren't going to ruin our friendship, they were just going to make it stronger."_

She squeezes the hand she's holding, interlocking our fingers. I take a deep breath and continue.

" _So, it turns out, I do like you more than I originally planned. I planned for you to be my best friend from the very first moment I saw you, but I never planned on you becoming the love of my life. I guess you can't plan on that though. Sometimes, you just get lucky."_

As I finish, she stills in my arms, her breath caught in her throat. So, I quickly finish up with the closing – _"Happy Valentine's Day, Spin. Love, TJ"_ – and wait for her response.

The silence, which in reality is probably not even minutes long, seems to go on for hours. But, finally she speaks, not looking up at me, and staring straight ahead at the card instead.

"The last part...is that part true?" she asks quietly.

"Happy Valentine's Day? Oh course! I may hate the day but I still want you happy," I say, my voice a tad high as I fail to hide behind a joke for the umpteenth time today.

She sits up and turns around to look me in the eye. "You know the part I'm talking about," she says firmly.

"Everything I wrote is the truth," I say. I shrug and smile shyly. "I love you, Spin."

She leans forward and kisses me, putting both her hands on either side of my face. It's not a sweet kiss or a slow one. It's a kiss of urgency, sloppy and passionate. I set the card down on the bed so I can use my hands, putting them on her hips, letting my fingers graze the bare skin between the hem of her shirt and her track sweats.

If I have the silver tongue when it comes to expressing my feelings, Spin's all about action to do the same. So, as she leaves my lips to kiss my jaw and begins rocking against me, I know she's attempting to demonstrate her response. But, we just came to a conclusion earlier not to assume.

"Spin?" I say. She stops briefly to look up. "Door's open."

Her cheeks, already flushed from our kiss, burn crimson. "Sorry," she mumbles. "I just–"

"You don't have to say it if you're not ready," I tell her. "Remember, open and honest is how this is gonna roll."

She puts her hands back on my cheeks and looks into my eyes. "I love you, too," she says.

She presses a kiss to my lips and pulls back, resting her forehead against mine. It takes a minute for my body to calm down from the excitement, but once it does we just stay in contented silence, goofy grins on our faces. She nestles back down against me. I wrap my arms around her and she rests her head on my chest, her ear over my heart. We must say the new three-word phrase a million times, the euphoria of the moment still tangible in the air.

Then my mom pokes her head in the open door.

"Hey, I know it's Valentine's Day, but it's getting late and it's a school night," she says. If she's upset that Spin and I are cuddling in my bed, she doesn't say anything. But, when I take a closer look on her face I can nearly see the wheels spinning in her head, already planning the lecture I'm going to get as soon as Spinelli leaves. "Five minutes?"

We both nod and she smiles before walking away.

"Am I going to be able to come up here again?" Spin asks as we hear my mom's steps on the stairs.

"Nope," I say. "And she's probably on the phone with your mom right now."

"Great," she grumbles as she sits up. She pouts at me. "Where are we going to make out now?

I put my lips to her ear. "There's always the tree house," I say, kissing her cheek as I back away.

"I like the way you think."

We make our way downstairs and I tell my parents I'm going to walk her home. Spin would usually grumble that _it's three doors down, Detweiler, I'm not some damsel in distress_ but she just keeps a firm hold on my hand as I tell them my plan. There's something special about tonight that neither of us really wants to end. But the trip to her house isn't nearly long enough, and when we make it to her porch, we stand there for a few seconds, neither wanting to start the goodbyes.

But, ultimately, we do.

Spin leans up on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around my neck, and we share one final kiss of the night. She falls back down off her toes and wraps her arms around my waist, her head on my chest, still trying to get us as much additional time together as she can.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you, too." I kiss the top of her head. "Today didn't start great, but I'm happy with where it ended."

"Me too."

"Although, I cannot believe that the first time we said I love you to each other was on Valentine's Day." I jokingly gag and she lets out an uncharacteristically girly giggle. "Who are we?"

She pulls away and smirks at me. "We're a living, breathing cliché, Detweiler," she says. Then she gives me one last quick kiss before letting go. She opens the door and turns back, smiling. "Do you need me to walk you back? It's a treacherous journey down the street."

There's the sass that was missing earlier.

"I think I can manage," I say. "I'm not some damsel in distress, you know." Although I might be when I get back to my parents. That's not going to be a fun conversation.

"Could have fooled me." She winks and I roll my eyes good-naturedly at her. "I'll see you in English tomorrow."

"See you in English."

She smiles. "Love you, Teej."

"Love you too, Spin. 'Night."

"Goodnight."

The door shuts behind her and I stuff my hands into the pockets of my sweats as I start walking back. Maybe Prickly was right. Maybe I did have this Valentine's Day thing all wrong. My heart thumps excitedly in my chest. I can't stop smiling. None of this feels phony at all. It just feels right.

...

 _Thank you so much for reading. I greatly appreciate it and love hearing your feedback._

 _Besides_ My Funny Valentines, _this story includes references or character traits from the episodes:_ The Experiment, Parents' Night, Spinelli's Masterpiece, Chez Vince, and Dance Lessons _, as well as the two movies:_ Recess: School's Out _and_ Recess: Taking the Fifth Grade _._

 _For those of you who read my other fics and offered suggestions, I have started a few of your ideas and I'd love to see which of them you'd like to read next. Since this is such a small fandom, I'd like to write first what you readers want to see. The stories I have started are:_

1\. " _Goodbye, Third Street" – (6_ _th_ _grade): With one final recess left before they're officially seventh graders, TJ has a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he and his friends are growing up._

2\. " _The Baby Project" – (11_ _th_ _grade): As part of their required sex education course, Spinelli and Gretchen are tasked with caring for baby simulator dolls over the weekend. So, naturally, they drag the boys to help them. TJ/Spinelli_

3\. " _Friends Forever" – (12_ _th_ _grade): Graduation night hits the former Third Streeters harder than they expect. Background TJ/Spinelli with hints of Gus/Cornchip Girl, Vince/Gretchen, Gus/Ashley T, and others_

4\. " _The Ring" – (age 23): After his plans to propose fail three times, TJ decides to do something he rarely does: wing it. TJ/Spinelli_

 _And, as always, if you have other ideas, I'd love to hear them._

 _Thanks!_


End file.
